The footsteps outside the door halted. The faint, metallic scrape of a key sliding into the lock echoed in the quiet room.

The door didn't open. Instead, Hector the butler cleared his throat on the other side of the heavy wood.

"Mrs. Knight," Hector said. His voice was flat, carrying the practiced, robotic tone of a professional servant. "There will be no dinner service for you tonight."

Jenna walked silently to the door. She pressed her hands against the wood. "On whose authority, Hector?" she asked, her voice cold.

"Mr. Knight gave specific instructions before his departure," Hector replied. "Until you calm down from this hysterical episode and are ready to communicate reasonably, all services to your suite, including food and water, have been suspended."

Jenna's breath hitched. She was sickened that a grown man, the head of the household staff, was strictly enforcing such a cruel order. It crystallized her reality. In this house, even the staff saw her as nothing but livestock.

Jenna didn't beg. She didn't scream curses at the door. She simply turned her back and walked away.

She went straight to the master bathroom. Her throat was parched from the adrenaline and stress. She reached for the gold-plated faucet over the sink and twisted the handle.

A hollow, hissing sound echoed from deep within the pipes. Not a single drop of water came out.

She moved to the massive walk-in shower and twisted the heavy dials. Nothing. She checked the bathtub. Dry.

Alonzo hadn't just locked her in. He had ordered the maintenance staff to shut off the main water valve to the master suite.

A wave of dizziness washed over her. The lack of food and water was already beginning to drain her physical strength.

Jenna leaned her back against the cold bathroom tiles. The memory of her lungs burning for oxygen on her deathbed assaulted her mind again.

The fear instantly mutated into a violent, burning rage. She pushed herself off the wall. Her eyes were hard and focused.

She marched back into the bedroom and walked straight to the massive King-size bed.

She grabbed the edge of the thousand-dollar Egyptian cotton flat sheet and yanked it off the mattress. She bunched the fabric in her hands and pulled.

The high-thread-count cotton was incredibly durable. She pulled the stainless steel eyebrow scissors from her tight jeans pocket. She dug the sharp, tiny blades into the thick hem of the sheet, sawing frantically until she managed to snip a small, jagged slit into the tough fabric. Using that tiny tear as a starting point, she gripped both sides and ripped her hands apart.

Riiiip. The loud sound of tearing fabric filled the room. She tore the sheet into a long, thick strip.

She repeated the process over and over. The rough friction of the heavy cotton burned her fingers. Red welts formed on her skin, and tiny drops of blood seeped from her cuticles, but she didn't feel the pain.

She took the long strips of fabric and tied them together using tight, double-knotted square knots. She wrapped the fabric around her hands and pulled with her entire body weight to test the strength.

She had a makeshift rope.

She walked to the balcony's glass door. She ran her fingers along the bottom edge of the frame, feeling for the secondary mechanical latch.

The electronic lock was dead, but she pulled the eyebrow scissors from her pocket. She jammed the sharp tip of the scissors into the tiny gap of the mechanical latch and twisted hard. The metal scraped and groaned.

With a sharp click, the heavy deadbolt slid back.

She grabbed the handle and shoved the heavy bulletproof glass door open.

The cold night wind instantly rushed into the room, whipping her hair across her face.

She dragged her cotton rope out onto the balcony. She wrapped one end tightly around the thick, marble Roman pillar that supported the railing. She tied three consecutive dead knots, pulling them as tight as her bleeding fingers allowed.

She threw the rest of the rope over the edge. It unspooled and vanished into the darkness below.

Jenna took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the freezing air. She climbed over the stone railing, gripped the fabric tight, and lowered her body until she was hanging suspended in the night wind.

The freezing wind whipped against Jenna's face. She gripped the rough cotton rope tightly with both hands, the friction burning her raw palms.

She planted the soles of her bare feet against the rough stone exterior of the mansion. She took a shallow breath and began to walk her feet down the wall, lowering her body weight inch by inch.

Suddenly, a sharp tearing sound echoed above her head. One of the knots connecting the strips of fabric gave way slightly.

Her body dropped two feet in a split second.

Jenna's heart slammed against her ribs. She bit down on her lower lip so hard she tasted copper, forcing herself not to scream. Cold sweat instantly soaked the back of her shirt.

She couldn't afford to go slow anymore. She loosened her grip slightly and slid down faster. The rough fabric tore the skin off her palms, leaving smears of blood on the white cotton.

When she was about four feet from the ground, the rope simply ended.

She looked down at the dark, manicured lawn below. She let go of the rope and dropped.

She hit the grass with a heavy thud. A sharp, vicious twist wrenched her ankle, sending a searing flash of pain shooting straight up her calf.

She swallowed a groan. She couldn't stay in the open. She scrambled forward on her hands and one good knee, dragging her injured leg until she slid behind a dense row of tall hedges.

Seconds later, a sweeping beam of bright white light cut through the darkness. A security guard was walking the perimeter, sweeping his heavy flashlight right over the spot where she had just landed.

Jenna pressed her body flat against the damp earth. She held her breath. The smell of wet dirt and crushed grass filled her nose.

The guard didn't notice the dent in the grass. He kept walking, the beam of light fading into the distance.

Jenna waited until her lungs burned before she exhaled. She pushed herself up. Using the shadows of the massive oak trees to hide from the security cameras, she limped toward the outer perimeter of the estate.

Every step sent a jagged spike of agony up her left leg. She reached the low, wrought-iron decorative fence that separated the estate from the community roads. She hauled her body over the cold metal spikes and collapsed onto the hard asphalt on the other side.

She had escaped the house, but as she looked around, despair washed over her. She was inside a sprawling, ultra-exclusive gated community that spanned hundreds of acres.

It was a labyrinth of winding roads, towering trees, and identical stone walls. There were no street signs.

She dragged herself along the edge of the road, shivering violently in her thin shirt.

Suddenly, two blinding headlights swept around the curve of the road ahead.

The low hum of an engine grew louder. A white SUV with the community's private security logo plastered on the side rolled slowly toward her.

Jenna had nowhere to run. She froze, pressing her back against the rough bark of a massive tree trunk.

The patrol car rolled to a stop right next to the tree. The driver's side door popped open. A young security guard in a dark uniform stepped out.

The guard, Manny Correa, pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. As he struck his lighter, the brief flash of orange flame illuminated the shadows. He caught a glimpse of movement behind the tree out of the corner of his eye.

Manny dropped the cigarette. He unclipped his heavy tactical flashlight from his belt, aimed it at the tree, and clicked it on.

"Hey! Who's back there? Step out!" Manny shouted, his voice tight with adrenaline.

The blinding beam hit Jenna directly in the face. She squeezed her eyes shut and instinctively threw her hands up to shield her face.

Manny kept the light steady. He saw a woman with messy hair, wearing a thin shirt. Her hands were covered in dried blood. She was barefoot, and her left ankle was swollen to the size of a baseball. She looked pale and terrified.

Jenna's brain shifted into overdrive. She needed him to pity her, not report her.

She let her hands drop slightly. She allowed the genuine trauma of her past life's death to flood her eyes. She began to tremble violently.

"Please," Jenna whispered, her voice cracking with raw terror. "My husband... he's going to kill me. I just got out. Please don't call him. Please."

Manny stared at the blood on her hands and the sheer, broken panic in her eyes. His professional suspicion crumbled instantly. He was a working-class guy; he hated the rich abusers who lived in these mansions.

He clicked off the flashlight. He looked nervously up and down the empty road.

"Get in the back," Manny hissed, waving his hand toward the car. "Hurry."

Jenna let out a shaky breath. She limped quickly to the SUV, pulled open the rear door, and threw herself onto the floorboards. She grabbed a thick gray emergency blanket off the seat and pulled it completely over her head.

Manny slid back into the driver's seat and slammed the door shut. He threw the SUV into drive and pressed the gas pedal. The patrol car glided smoothly down the dark, tree-lined avenue.

Jenna lay curled in a tight ball on the floorboards behind his seat. The heavy gray wool blanket smelled like stale coffee and dust. She breathed through her mouth, trying to keep perfectly silent.

The only sound in the cabin was the low hum of the tires on the asphalt. The tension in the air was so thick it felt hard to breathe.

Suddenly, the two-way radio mounted on the dashboard erupted with a burst of harsh static.

The sharp, aggressive voice of Kurt Novak, the head of community security, blasted through the speakers.

"All units, listen up," Kurt barked. "We have a Code Red at the Knight Estate. Mrs. Knight has suffered a severe mental episode and fled the premises. Lock down the main gates immediately. Nobody gets in or out without a visual inspection of the vehicle. Begin a grid search."

Hearing the words "Mrs. Knight," Manny's hands jerked on the steering wheel. The heavy SUV swerved slightly, the tires whining against the road.

Manny stared into the rearview mirror. His face was completely drained of color. He looked at the lump under the gray blanket in the back seat. He realized he wasn't helping a random abused woman; he was harboring the billionaire's runaway wife. He was going to lose his job, or worse.

Jenna felt the car swerve. She reached out from under the blanket and grabbed the fabric of Manny's seat. She dug her fingers into the upholstery.

She didn't speak a word. She just squeezed the seat, transmitting a silent, desperate plea.

Manny swallowed hard. His eyes darted frantically in the mirror. He clenched his jaw, tightened his grip on the wheel, and pressed his foot harder on the gas.

The SUV rounded the final corner. The massive, iron front gates of the community loomed ahead, illuminated by harsh halogen floodlights.

A barricade had been set up. Four security guards in tactical vests were stopping every car. Standing right in the center of the lanes was Kurt Novak, holding a heavy Maglite.

Manny eased the brakes, bringing the SUV to a slow stop right in front of the barricade. He rolled down his window. A bead of cold sweat rolled down his temple.

Kurt walked over. He didn't smile. He shined the bright beam of his flashlight directly into Manny's face, then swept it across the front passenger seat.

"Correa," Kurt said gruffly. "You were patrolling Sector C. Did you see any sign of a woman on foot?"

Manny forced himself to look Kurt in the eye. He gripped the steering wheel to stop his hands from shaking. "Nothing, boss. It's dead quiet out there. Haven't seen a soul."

Kurt's eyes narrowed. He shifted his weight and leaned closer to the window. He shined the flashlight into the back of the SUV.

The beam hit the crumpled gray blanket on the floorboards.

Kurt's brow furrowed. He stepped back and reached his gloved hand out, wrapping his fingers around the handle of the rear passenger door.

Under the blanket, Jenna stopped breathing. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a jackhammer. She slid her right hand into her pocket and wrapped her bleeding fingers around the cold metal of the eyebrow scissors.

Just as Kurt squeezed the door handle, Manny reached down with his left hand, blindly pressing the emergency static burst button on his secondary, off-network radio clipped to his belt. A sharp, ear-piercing squawk of static instantly erupted from the dashboard. At the exact same time, Manny let out a loud, exaggerated cough.

"Man, I wouldn't open that if I were you, boss," Manny said, pinching his nose with his free hand.

Kurt paused. He looked at Manny. "What's under the blanket?"

"My gym bag and my laundry from the last three shifts," Manny lied smoothly, making a face of pure disgust. "I spilled a protein shake in there two days ago and it baked in the sun. It smells like actual death. I was just heading to the laundromat off-site to burn it."

Kurt stared at him. He sniffed the air. The power of suggestion worked; he curled his lip in disgust, stepping away from the door handle. He instinctively reached up to check his own shoulder mic, distracted by the sudden frequency interference. Right at that moment, the official radio on Kurt's shoulder chirped.

"Captain," a voice crackled. "We found torn bedsheets hanging from the second-floor balcony on the east side of the Knight house. She went into the woods."

Kurt's attention snapped away from the SUV. He unclipped his radio. "Copy that. All units converge on the east woods."

He looked back at Manny and waved his hand dismissively. "Get out of here, Correa. Go wash your damn clothes."

"Yes, sir," Manny said.

He didn't wait a second longer. He slammed his foot on the accelerator. The SUV shot forward, passing through the iron gates and speeding out onto the open, dark highway.